To my surprise, Bruno ran forwards to him, as if he were some old friend of theirs, seized the disengaged hand and hung on to it with both of his own: and there stood this tall dignified officer in the middle of the road, gravely swinging a little boy to and fro, while Sylvie stood ready to push him, exactly as if a real swing had suddenly been provided for their pastime. “We don’t want to get to _Babylon_, oo know!” Bruno explained as he swung. “And it isn’t _candlelight_: it’s _daylight_!” Sylvie added, giving the swing a push of extra vigour, which nearly took the whole machine off its balance. By this time it was clear to me that Eric Lindon was quite unconscious of my presence. Even the Professor and the children seemed to have lost sight of me: and I stood in the midst of the group, as unconcernedly as a ghost, seeing but unseen. “How perfectly isochronous!” the Professor exclaimed with enthusiasm. He had his watch in his hand, and was carefully counting Bruno’s oscillations. “He measures time quite as accurately as a pendulum!” [Illustration: ‘HOW PERFECTLY ISOCHRONOUS!’] “Yet even pendulums,” the good-natured young soldier observed, as he carefully released his hand from Bruno’s grasp, “are not a joy _for ever_! Come, that’s enough for one bout, little man! Next time we meet, you shall have another. Meanwhile you’d better take this old gentleman to Queer Street, Number——” “_We’ll_ find it!” cried Bruno eagerly, as they dragged the Professor away. “We are much indebted to you!” the Professor said, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t mention it!” replied the officer, raising his hat as a parting salute. “_What_ number did you say!” the Professor called from the distance. The officer made a trumpet of his two hands. “Forty!” he shouted in stentorian tones. “And not _piano_, by any means!” he added to himself. “It’s a mad world, my masters, a mad world!” He lit another cigar, and strolled on towards his hotel. “What a lovely evening!” I said, joining him as he passed me. “Lovely indeed,” he said. “Where did _you_ come from? Dropped from the clouds?” “I’m strolling your way,” I said; and no further explanation seemed necessary. “Have a cigar?” “Thanks: I’m not a smoker.” “Is there a Lunatic Asylum near here?” “Not that I know of.” “Thought there might be. Met a lunatic just now. Queer old fish as ever I saw!” And so, in friendly chat, we took our homeward ways, and wished each other ‘good-night’ at the door of his hotel. Left to myself, I felt the ‘eerie’ feeling rush over me again, and saw, standing at the door of Number Forty, the three figures I knew so well. “Then it’s the wrong house?” Bruno was saying. “No, no! It’s the right _house_,” the Professor cheerfully replied: “but it’s the wrong _street_. _That’s_ where we’ve made our mistake! Our best plan, now, will be to——” It was over. The street was empty. Commonplace life was around me, and the ‘eerie’ feeling had fled.